Read Online Luxe by Ashley Antoinette - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ashley Antoinette
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loitering, Iâd advise you to get up and get moving.â
Bleu slowly stood on her feet, grimacing slightly as she fought through the discomfort of her healing wounds. âIâm a student; relax!â she shot back as she grabbed her suitcase. The sun had barely risen above the clouds, and the sky was a shade of amber that caused her to stop and admire the view. âSunny Californiaâ was an accurate description. It wasnât even 6:00 a.m. and already the heat was starting to settle in. The campus was practically deserted at this hour. A few lone souls wandered to prep for early classes, but nothing else moved. It was peaceful and Bleu couldnât wait to get started on this journey. Walking around campus was like being in a city within a city. It was huge ⦠too big, in fact. She had been to a few college parties back in high school, but this campus seemed to dwarf any that she had ever stepped foot on. After an hour of walking, going to the wrong building, and asking various students for help, she finally located the admissions office. She didnât know what she would say or do, but she had to give it a shot. She was now more eager than ever. She had to attend. She didnât care if she had to make the painful trek around campus while recovering or if she had to stay up all night every night to catch up; she just wanted to be here. Besides, she had nowhere else to go. Everything took effort. Going up the steps, pulling her bag behind her ⦠it was all a task, and by the time she stepped into the air-conditioned building she was out of sorts. Sweaty and flustered, she blew out a sharp breath as she found the office that she had been searching for.
âHow can I help you?â the woman behind the counter asked.
Exhausted, Bleu set her bag at her feet and leaned into the counter. âMy name is Bleu Montclair. I need to speak to my admissions counselor.â She reached into her cheap handbag and pulled out her acceptance letter. She opened it, hands shaking, as she could feel herself growing weak, her breathing labored.
âAre you all right?â the woman asked in concern.
âNo, no, not really,â Bleu responded, out of breath as the pain in her chest intensified. âI was accepted here and then I got shot, so I couldnât come right away, but Iâm here now. I rode a bus for hours to get here. I just want my shot. Iâll do anything to start classes. Iâll catch up on the work. Iâll take extra classes ⦠get a tutor ⦠just please, I have to start.â
The blond woman was moved to tears as she came from behind her station. Desperation hung in the air like humidity, making it thick as sympathy weighed down her chest. The woman placed a hand on Bleuâs back and guided her to the seating area. âSit here, honey. Iâll get one of the admissions counselors for you. Iâm sure someone will be able to help you,â she said.
She hurried away and Bleu frantically rummaged through her purse until she located the medicine bottle. She was overexerting herself and she knew it, but she hadnât come this far to turn back now. She took out one of the pain pills and popped it into her mouth, swallowing it without water. She needed the ache in the middle of her chest to go away. It wasnât the physical pain that overwhelmed her. It was the mental chains that shackled her to her past, making her think that she would never make it out of the hood. She felt bound to a city that had no love for her, and if UCLA turned her away she would be stuck there forever.
âMs. Montclair?â
Bleu looked up and into the dark eyes of a middle-aged woman with olive skin and kind eyes. Her blond hair was sparse, barely hiding her aging scalp from the world, and her clothes two sizes too big for her frail body. This old bat was the gatekeeper to higher learning, and Bleu only hoped that she would let her in. âIâm
Bleu slowly stood on her feet, grimacing slightly as she fought through the discomfort of her healing wounds. âIâm a student; relax!â she shot back as she grabbed her suitcase. The sun had barely risen above the clouds, and the sky was a shade of amber that caused her to stop and admire the view. âSunny Californiaâ was an accurate description. It wasnât even 6:00 a.m. and already the heat was starting to settle in. The campus was practically deserted at this hour. A few lone souls wandered to prep for early classes, but nothing else moved. It was peaceful and Bleu couldnât wait to get started on this journey. Walking around campus was like being in a city within a city. It was huge ⦠too big, in fact. She had been to a few college parties back in high school, but this campus seemed to dwarf any that she had ever stepped foot on. After an hour of walking, going to the wrong building, and asking various students for help, she finally located the admissions office. She didnât know what she would say or do, but she had to give it a shot. She was now more eager than ever. She had to attend. She didnât care if she had to make the painful trek around campus while recovering or if she had to stay up all night every night to catch up; she just wanted to be here. Besides, she had nowhere else to go. Everything took effort. Going up the steps, pulling her bag behind her ⦠it was all a task, and by the time she stepped into the air-conditioned building she was out of sorts. Sweaty and flustered, she blew out a sharp breath as she found the office that she had been searching for.
âHow can I help you?â the woman behind the counter asked.
Exhausted, Bleu set her bag at her feet and leaned into the counter. âMy name is Bleu Montclair. I need to speak to my admissions counselor.â She reached into her cheap handbag and pulled out her acceptance letter. She opened it, hands shaking, as she could feel herself growing weak, her breathing labored.
âAre you all right?â the woman asked in concern.
âNo, no, not really,â Bleu responded, out of breath as the pain in her chest intensified. âI was accepted here and then I got shot, so I couldnât come right away, but Iâm here now. I rode a bus for hours to get here. I just want my shot. Iâll do anything to start classes. Iâll catch up on the work. Iâll take extra classes ⦠get a tutor ⦠just please, I have to start.â
The blond woman was moved to tears as she came from behind her station. Desperation hung in the air like humidity, making it thick as sympathy weighed down her chest. The woman placed a hand on Bleuâs back and guided her to the seating area. âSit here, honey. Iâll get one of the admissions counselors for you. Iâm sure someone will be able to help you,â she said.
She hurried away and Bleu frantically rummaged through her purse until she located the medicine bottle. She was overexerting herself and she knew it, but she hadnât come this far to turn back now. She took out one of the pain pills and popped it into her mouth, swallowing it without water. She needed the ache in the middle of her chest to go away. It wasnât the physical pain that overwhelmed her. It was the mental chains that shackled her to her past, making her think that she would never make it out of the hood. She felt bound to a city that had no love for her, and if UCLA turned her away she would be stuck there forever.
âMs. Montclair?â
Bleu looked up and into the dark eyes of a middle-aged woman with olive skin and kind eyes. Her blond hair was sparse, barely hiding her aging scalp from the world, and her clothes two sizes too big for her frail body. This old bat was the gatekeeper to higher learning, and Bleu only hoped that she would let her in. âIâm
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